


Our True Nature

by risentogether



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bruce is Nineteen, Bruce isn't having it, Jeremiah wants to play Daddy, M/M, Possible Fluff, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Wayleska - Freeform, sort of shippy if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:20:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risentogether/pseuds/risentogether
Summary: Jeremiah Valeska wants Bruce Wayne as his very best friend, but if Bruce isn't ready to become the man he's meant to be, Jeremiah is more than happy to treat him like the child he evidently wants to act like.





	1. Welcome Home

How Bruce had gotten into the mess in the first place, he couldn’t say. He had been patrolling the Green Zone. This much he remembered, because this is what Bruce always did at night. The young Wayne almost never slept. How could he, when there was a whole region of refugees that needed protection? Bruce may not have seemed like much, and in truth, he wasn’t much compared to the hundreds of monsters lurking in the Dark Zone, but he still acted as the Green Zone’s watch dog. If there was danger, Bruce Wayne wanted to make sure he was there for it. It was the least he could do   
Yes, as Bruce thought of it, he was certain he had been patrolling. It had been a quarter past twelve, and Bruce couldn’t have slept even if he hadn’t already been in the habit of patrolling. Alfred had been missing for days, and Bruce was beginning to get downright distraught. 

What had happened next, though? Bruce was having trouble remembering that bit. He could remember so very little of the moments right before he was knocked unconscious. He remembered absolutely nothing as to how he got here, of all places. 

Here was Wayne Manor, apparently. 

How he had somehow crossed the bridge onto the mainland was beyond him. And more importantly, why he was lying in his own bed, covered by blankets and tucked in comfortably was even more confusing. For a moment, Bruce had wondered if maybe, just maybe, the entire thing had just been some gruesome nightmare. 

When he got up and found that his head ached from an attack with a blunt object and that he was still dressed in the same clothes he had worn the night before while patrolling, he knew that this was not the case. This left him with the option that someone had kidnapped him and brought him here, but who and how? Gathering his wits, Bruce realized that there was very simply only one way to find out. He was going to have to leave the room and find whoever the culprit was. 

Picking up the lamp lying on his bedside table, Bruce turned it upside down in order to make a makeshift club and made his way to the door. He was surprised to find it unlocked, and opened it as quietly as he could. This was difficult, because the door was unfortunately known to creak. Once Bruce had opened the door and checked for intruders, he slowly made his way out the room and began to creep down the hall. 

Who had hit him? Bruce tried desperately to remember, but he couldn’t. Had it been one of the gang members, hoping to loot something off him? Perhaps, but then why was he here? Whatever this was, it wasn’t just a mugging. It was calculated. And somehow, it had gotten him on the other side of the river. Bruce tried to remember, but his head was still sore and to try and remember was to cause a blurred sort of pain to spread through his skull. He could remember a flash of red. 

Quiet talking made the young man freeze. He could hear people further down the hall. He was sure of this. The voices were almost inaudible and entirely indistinct. He had no idea who was speaking, but he knew someone was. Following the sound of the voices led him to the study. Bruce stood outside the cracked door and listened in. 

“Everything downstairs is ready,” said a woman. Familiar sounding, at that. “The butler did a good job of cleanin’ everything up, huh?” 

There was a moment of quiet shuffling, and then a very familiar voice said, “Well, it was his job, wasn’t it?” Jeremiah Valeska. And Bruce was willing to bet that the woman with him was Ecco. “You made sure to get everything I asked for?” 

“Yep! Everything, boss,” Ecco chimed, sounding happy to have done her employer-turned-messiah’s bidding. “All the clothes, the supplies. We tested your rewiring job and everything worked just like you said it would! No hiccups whatsoever.” 

That got a pleased sound from Jeremiah, who said, “Perfect. Now, there’s only one thing left…” He was silent, and Bruce leaned forward slightly in an attempt to strain and listen to what he was about to say. Jeremiah paused, and then, “It’s impolite to eavesdrop, Bruce.” 

Bruce jumped lightly as the door swung open and he came face to face with Jeremiah, who looked a strange mixture of amused and annoyed. Frozen, Bruce clenched the lamp in his hand and stared up at the disapproving criminal for only a second before instinct kicked in and he remembered to swing at him. However, Bruce was still groggy from the night before. He swung, but Jeremiah deflected this easily enough and yanked the lamp away. Tossing it to the side, he gave Bruce an amused glare before watching the teen take a swing at him with his fists. Jeremiah grabbed hold of Bruce and hauled him inside. 

Jeremiah yanked the boy inside and then slung him towards the sofa. Yelping, Bruce fell into the chair with a grunt. He began to throw himself back into a standing position, but two hands caught his shoulders from behind. Ecco gave him a squeeze and pulled him back down to sit on the couch. She stood behind him, keeping her hands firmly pressing him down. 

“How did we get here?” Bruce asked sharply, glaring at the finely-dressed man who was now standing in front of him and staring down at him from the other side of the coffee table. “What’s going on? Where’s Alfred? I know he’s here, I heard you!” 

“Steady now, Bruce,” Jeremiah warned, voice low and calm. It must have been meant to be soothing, but it was anything but. “Your butler is downstairs right now, making dinner as we speak. Don’t go trying to get up now, Mr. Pennyworth is fine. Stay seated.” Bruce, trying to push Ecco’s hands off him now, slowly lowered his hands back to his lap and glared at Jeremiah. This seemed to only amuse the green-haired man further. “Good. That’s much better. Did you sleep well? You must have; You slept all night and all morning, too. Must have been nice sleeping in your own bed again, wasn’t it?” 

“Answer my questions,” Bruce demanded, and Ecco gave his shoulders a sharp squeeze, nails digging into his skin. 

Jeremiah pursed his lips, then tutted and moved away from the chairs in favor of walking towards the window. He was quiet, and Bruce was getting ready to ask again when Jeremiah said, “Ecco brought you here upon my request.” 

“Left a little knot on your head, too, huh?” Ecco teased, releasing one shoulder in favor of ruffling his hair none-too-gently. Bruce grimaced. 

Turning his attention back to Bruce, the elder looked him up and down. Bruce was glaring at Jeremiah still, waiting to hear what this was all about. Hadn’t Jeremiah died? Bruce had seen Selina stab him multiple times. They had left him bleeding out on the floor! Jeremiah seemed to see that Bruce’s mind was spinning, because he smiled in an eerie manner and chuckled. “How we got here doesn’t matter much. What matters most is that we’re here.” 

The answer did nothing to soothe Bruce, and in fact only made him angrier. Seeing this, Jeremiah said, “Bruce, these past few months have given me a lot of time to think. I told you that I wanted to help you reach your full potential, to help you win the war with your own true nature and become who it is you’re meant to be, just as I want to be your best friend. I want to help you.” Moving across the floor at a slow rate, Jeremiah’s bright, colorless eyes wandered around the room in thought. “However, it’s occurred to me that perhaps you just aren’t ready to accept that.” 

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t understand. Where was Jeremiah going with this? “And?” he asked gruffly, which seemed to annoy his enemy, though Jeremiah did not lash out. 

“And so, I’ve come to a new conclusion: If you aren’t willing to accept who you are just yet, I’ll have to think of a new way to get you there.” 

Jeremiah stopped his movements and turned to face Bruce. There was a teasing smile spread across his face, and Bruce didn’t like the way it looked at all. It made him nervous. When Jeremiah gave no further explanation, Bruce asked in a quiet voice, “How do you mean to do that?” 

This caused the villain to chuckle. He folded his hands behind his back and stood with a sort of natural grace that Bruce was envious of. “You’re just not ready to play with the adults yet, Bruce. That’s all right. I’ll be here to ensure that you get there. Until that time, I’m afraid we’re going to have to go about a new approach in our relationship. You see, Bruce, if I can’t have you as a best friend, I’ve decided that there are other ways we can be connected.” Jeremiah smiled, and Bruce trembled at the eeriness of the way he looked at him. His lips pursed. 

“How?” 

Jeremiah’s smile grew wider. “You’ll see.” 

Bruce was ready to ask more questions when a knock came to the door. His head snapped up, his eyes widening to see Alfred standing there with a professional stance and a pleasant smile. “Alfred!”   
“Ah, hello, young Master Bruce. Nice to see you’re finally awake,” Alfred said, giving the young man a smile. Bruce frowned. What was wrong with Alfred? Why was he acting so calm during all of this? The butler turned to Jeremiah. “Dinner is ready, sir, when you are.” 

Jeremiah gave a grin. “Thank you, Alfred. Bruce and I will be down shortly.” 

Giving a nod, the butler took that as his cue to leave. Bruce turned his head and glared accusingly at Jeremiah. “What did you do to Alfred?” 

“I didn’t do anything. Well, I did kidnap him, but what you saw there was nothing more than some simple hypnotism. I didn’t really believe in all that before I met Mr. Tetch. Interesting, isn’t it?” Jeremiah hummed and Ecco released the hold she had on Bruce. “Come on then, Bruce. Dinner is waiting and I’ll bet you’re starving.” 

Ecco gave him a light push, signaling Bruce to stand. Unsure what else to do, Bruce stood up and watched as Jeremiah led the way out the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “I’d leave any other possible weapons where they’re meant to be, Bruce. Keep in mind that I have this building rigged with explosives and all I need do is say the word and we’ll all go up in flames. You. Me. And that butler of yours.”


	2. First Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Jeremiah talk over dinner, and then Jeremiah teaches Bruce a quick lesson on behavior before bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks to the readers who took the time to check out the first chapter. Here is chapter two. Warning: chapter involves spanking of a teen. That aside, I'd love to know what you guys think, so please leave comments telling me your thoughts, and better yet your ideas of things that could happen in the story! Also, as I'm still trying to figure out everything on AO3, I wouldn't mind some story recommendations based off what you can see by my writing style.

Bruce found the halls of Wayne Manor to be characteristically clean, which struck him as odd considering the many months that it had been left untouched. It led him to believe that Jeremiah really had made Alfred clean it top to bottom, which infuriated Bruce. How dare Jeremiah had Alfred hypnotized to get him to clean the house? Alfred may have been a butler, but he was also Bruce’s guardian and friend. Bruce had worried about him for all this time only to find that he had been trapped by Jeremiah! The monster. 

Jeremiah led Bruce into the dining room. This struck Bruce as odd, not only because Jeremiah had led him in here, but because Bruce so rarely actually went into the dining room. Generally, the room was only used for large dinner parties. Bruce hadn’t really had any of those since his parents had died. The room was generally left empty and Bruce ate all his meals in the kitchen, where it was much more intimate and comfortable. The dining room was huge, the table unnecessarily long for such a small family, and especially for these circumstances. There were only two places set: One at the head of the table, and the other at the right hand of the head. 

Alfred was waiting by the table. The plates were set, silver lids over them both. Jeremiah wordlessly walked over to the head of the table and there he sat. “Thank you, Alfred. That will be all for now,” the criminal said, and with a gracious little bow, Alfred whisked himself off to the kitchen. Bruce stood, watching Jeremiah as he uncovered his dinner and set the lid aside. Colorless eyes lifted to look expectantly at Bruce. 

“Go on, Bruce. Come sit down.” 

Glaring still, Bruce made his way slowly over to the table and sat by Jeremiah. He made no move to uncover the plate, but that didn’t matter. Jeremiah reached over and did it for him. 

The dinner consisted of chicken, potatoes, corn off the cob, and peas. There was a full glass of water by Bruce’s plate, just as there was a glass of red wine in front of Jeremiah’s. “A little birdie told me that you have been neglecting your own meals in favor of giving them away to refugees,” Jeremiah said, setting the lid aside before laying his napkin in his lap, “That was sweet of you, Bruce. But you shouldn’t be ignoring your own obvious needs. You look like you’re withering away to nothing. No matter. We’ll get you back to your full strength in no time.” 

“What is all of this?” Bruce asked, voice cold and blank as he watched Jeremiah calmly cut into the chicken. The villain popped the piece into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed before he even considered answering Bruce. 

“That’ll come eventually. Eat. You must be starving.” 

As a matter of fact, Bruce was starving. Jeremiah was right; Bruce gave most of his rations away in the Green Zone. As far as he was concerned, other people needed them more than he did. Bruce ate very little and slept even less. He was deteriorating, even though he would never admit to that. Bruce knew he must have looked awful to Jeremiah. He had lost weight, he was exhausted, and he must have looked a little disheveled, too. Even so, Bruce didn’t trust this meal. He didn’t trust Jeremiah, either. So, he said again in a cold voice, “Tell me what’s going on, Jeremiah.” 

“Watch your tone,” Jeremiah shot back, his voice becoming low in warning. He gave Bruce a hard look before sighing deeply through his nose and setting down his fork. “I will answer your questions in full, but not until I see you eating. Everything is perfectly clean. Alfred made all of it himself. Eat, and I’ll answer your questions.” 

Saying so, he gestured to the untouched plate expectantly. Bruce glared at him a moment longer, but when Jeremiah didn’t budge and only continued to give him that downright stern expression, Bruce felt himself grow resigned. He stabbed a potato with his fork and shoved it into his mouth, chewing with aggression. Jeremiah smiled. 

“To answer your first question, I’ll have to say: I thought I already did. I told you, Bruce, you aren’t ready to assume the mantle Ra’s and I wanted for you, and that’s okay. I can wait. And in the meantime, I’ve thought of other ways we can be connected.” Jeremiah sipped his wine and watched dutifully as Bruce swallowed down the potato. 

“How?” Bruce asked, once he had managed to get the potato down. It was the best thing he had eaten since this whole mess had started, and Bruce was fighting the urge to start shoveling the food down his throat. Jeremiah didn’t answer, but gave a small nod to his plate. Glaring, Bruce cut off a piece of chicken and began to chew while Jeremiah smiled. 

“Bruce, it’s occurred to me that you’ve had a very rocky family life since your parents passed away.” Jeremiah squared his shoulders, eyes cast down to the chicken he was currently slicing as he continued, “Alfred may have taken excellent physical care of you, but he lacked the discipline and care it takes to raise a child. Jim was another father figure, but he, too, isn’t the best role model. In fact, I can see where he’s rubbed off on you. Eat your peas, Bruce.” 

“I’m not a fan,” Bruce replied quietly. Jeremiah gave him a stony expression, and Bruce realized that his options were either do what Jeremiah said or gain no understanding of his own situation. That in mind, he stuck a spoonful of peas into his mouth and forced back a grimace. 

“The point being, how can you be expected to mature into the proper young man you’re meant to be when you’ve regularly fallen into the hands of underqualified caregivers? Alfred let you do whatever you saw fit, and why wouldn’t he? You are his employer, after all. He didn’t even force you to attend school, Bruce. You! You were only twelve at the time, and he let you homeschool yourself. What kind of guardian agrees to that?” Jeremiah gave a huff of indignation and paused to take in another mouthful. Once he’d swallowed and washed the bite down with the wine, he looked at Bruce. “It’s really no wonder you aren’t ready yet, Bruce. You fell into unfit hands. Alfred was never the right person to raise you. Jim certainly wasn’t. Your darling parents surely tried, but their lives were cut short. You’ve gone practically without any sort of guide all these years.” 

Bruce didn’t like what Jeremiah was saying at all. Alfred was an excellent guardian! He was family! Jim may not have been the perfect man, but he was a good man. Jim was a good role model. All of this talk only flared Bruce’s quick temper. “Don’t talk about them like that,” he growled. “Not my parents. Not Alfred. Not Jim. Alfred did the best he could with what he had. Jim may not be perfect but he’s always done his best to set good examples for the people around him. Who are you to talk? You’re psychotic.” 

“Don’t use that word, Bruce. It’s impolite.” Jeremiah set his fork down and turned his body to further face Bruce. “I’m not saying they didn’t do their very best to try to give you the best they could. I’m certain they did. But that wasn’t enough. They were never fit to take care of you, Bruce.” 

“What does that have to do with any of this?” Bruce snarled, forcefully setting his spoon down. He sat back in his chair and glowered at the man. “Why did you bring me here, Jeremiah?” 

Jeremiah chuckled. “Finish your meal, and I’ll tell you.” 

“No. I’m not playing your games anymore. I want you to tell me what’s going on!” Bruce could hear his own voice rising. His fists were slowly tightening into fists. Blood was beginning to rise in temperature. Bruce was getting angry. 

Surprisingly, Jeremiah did not yell, nor did he begin that obnoxious little laugh he was getting known for. Instead, Jeremiah stared at Bruce with an eerie sort of calm to him. He waited until Bruce had stopped shouting, and then he said in a slow, relaxed voice, “Bruce, I know you’re upset, and I know you’re confused. I promise, I am going to explain everything soon. First, though, I want you to finish this lovely dinner Alfred has prepared.” Jeremiah gestured towards Bruce’s plate. “You haven’t been eating properly, and this meal will do your body and your mind a lot of good. So, finish your plate. Drink your water. Calm yourself down.” 

The criminal kept his voice perfectly even through his entire speech, and Bruce felt himself only grow angrier at the fact that he had not been able to pull any negative emotions out of Jeremiah with his own. He clenched his teeth together tightly, narrowed his eyes, and glared stubbornly at Jeremiah. He kept this face up for about fifteen seconds, but at the end of those seconds, his stomach decided then was the most opportune time to growl loudly. Bruce felt his cheeks grow hot as Jeremiah smiled. 

“See? You’re hungry. You’ll feel better after your meal. Every bite, now. Go on.” 

Feeling especially ridiculous about the whole thing, Bruce huffed and grabbed his utensils before beginning to swallow down the rest of his meal. He ate fast and silently. There was only the sound of forks against plates, though Jeremiah commented that Bruce should slow down on two different occasions. 

When the meal was over, Bruce couldn’t help but think he hadn’t felt this physically satisfied in months. He was no longer hungry, and that feeling was now foreign to him. He felt full. He would never admit it to Jeremiah, but the feeling was nice. 

Sitting in silence at the table, Bruce watched Jeremiah with a slight frown. Jeremiah had finished his plate and then once he had seen Bruce had done the same, he called Alfred in to clean up. Bruce watched Alfred with despair as the butler picked up plates and silverware without a care in the world. What had Tetch done to him? How was Bruce going to fix it? When the butler went away again, Bruce saw that Jeremiah was smiling at him. “Shall we move back to the study? Much better place for talking.” 

“I want to know what this is about, Jeremiah,” Bruce pressed. He must have sounded tired, and a look of feigned pity crossed Jeremiah’s face. 

The villain tutted. “All right, Bruce. Fine, I’ll tell you now. I told you that Alfred and Jim were both unfit to be your guardians, now didn’t I? Alfred means well, but his butler duties get in the way of his child rearing and the two become too entwined to be of any use of you. Jim can hardly even be counted, what with him coming in and out of your life.” 

“Yes, you said that. Get to the point, Jeremiah.” 

“Bruce,” Jeremiah warned, eyeing him with that stern look again so that Bruce felt his fury flaring up once more. Jeremiah was quiet for a moment, and then he smiled. “Well, if the others in your life aren’t fit to help you grow into the man you’re meant to be, then I’ll just have to take the job myself, won’t I?” 

The words struck Bruce, causing obvious confusion to spread across his face. Jeremiah would have to take the job himself? What was that supposed to mean? Jeremiah wanted to raise him? Bruce was nineteen now, there was no more “raising” to be had! “Jeremiah, I’m not a kid anymore-”

“Perhaps not in age,” Jeremiah agreed, “but you’re also very much not the adult you seem to want to be treated as. Bruce, you’ve made it very clear that no matter what you try to make people believe, you are still the little boy trapped in the alleyway, watching your parents die. You’re still the little boy in desperate need of guidance and care. I can give that to you. I’m going to give that to you now. And, eventually, you’ll finally be ready to be who you were always meant to be. The dark knight Ra’s prophesized to me, to you. It will be wonderful, when that day comes. But until then, we’ll make do with what we have.” 

It all sounded far too mad to believe. Bruce hated the idea of it. He hated the sound of it. Jeremiah wanted to treat him like a child until he agreed to play a part of Jeremiah’s sick game. Bruce didn’t want anything to do with it or him! “You can’t make me be someone I’m not,” Bruce whispered, voice cold. 

“That’s true,” Jeremiah said, chuckling as he stood up from the table, “but I’m not doing that, am I? I don’t need to make you into anything. Because as much as you like to deny it, you haven’t changed at all since that night.” The words stung more than Bruce would care to admit. “Now, come along. You’ve had a long day, Bruce. What you need now is to get cleaned up and ready for bed. We can talk more tomorrow.” 

The anger filled his veins before Bruce could even consider it, working him as though he were only a puppet. He stood up, nearly knocking the chair over as he did so. “I am not playing this game with you, Jeremiah! I’m an adult. I’m not letting you treat me like a child because of some twisted, fantastical belief you came up with.” 

For a moment, Bruce saw the look of agitation in Jeremiah’s eyes. He coveted that look, because he knew it meant he had struck a nerve in Jeremiah just as Jeremiah had struck one in Bruce. Seeing this, Bruce narrowed his eyes and said, “I’m done playing. I’m going to find Alfred now, and I’m going to leave.” The words were practically spat at Jeremiah. He turned to head for the kitchen. 

Bruce was not expecting the hand to suddenly grab hold of his ear, or the arm that wrapped around his torso and trapped his arms to his sides. He gave a small yelp as Jeremiah gave his ear a tug to spur him in the opposite direction, towards the hall that would take them back to the main staircase. Kicking, thrashing, and cursing the whole time, Bruce struggled to break free from Jeremiah’s grip while the green-haired man pulled him out of the kitchen. 

“Now, Bruce,” Jeremiah drawled, somehow managing to make his voice heard over Bruce’s incessant yelling, “I know that this is all very new to you and that you’re struggling with the concept of this idea, and because this is your very first night, I’m allowing myself to give you a little leeway. But if you continue using that tone with those words directed at me, there are going to be consequences.” He gave the boy a little heave upward that momentarily sent Bruce off his feet entirely. Getting Bruce moving again, Jeremiah began to march him up the stairs. “Watch your step.” 

“Let go of me,” Bruce hissed, kicking at Jeremiah’s ankles so that the other felt it necessary to lift him up once more. Bruce growled as he was suspended in the air for a moment. He squirmed deliberately, even going so far as to trying to push them both back down the stairs, but once Jeremiah had secured his grip, it was impossible to get loose again. The man might as well have been a python. 

Leading Bruce down the hall, Jeremiah spoke in that same calm, soothing tone, “Easy, Bruce. Steady now. You need to calm yourself down before you get into trouble. To your room, there we go.” Shuffling the squirming boy inside, Jeremiah shut the door with his foot and pulled Bruce towards the conjoined bathroom. “Now, I’m entrusting you with taking a shower and getting cleaned up. The water’s working just fine, I did work on it before you arrived. I’m going to find you some pajamas to wear. Go on.” 

Bruce shrugged Jeremiah’s hands off him with a scowl and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Once he was alone, he felt it safe to seethe in peace. Outside, he could make out the sound of Jeremiah rummaging through drawers and moving around. The sound of the man only made Bruce angrier, and he stood there stewing over it for a good minute and a half before he heard Jeremiah’s voice on the other side of the door say, “I don’t hear water running, Bruce. Do you require assistance?” 

That only made the young man angrier. Storming over to the shower, he started the water and watched as it poured from the showerhead. When was the last time Bruce had taken a proper shower? The water was more or less out in Gotham. Water was hard to come by. Most of it was meant for drinking. Showering was difficult. Sighing, Bruce found himself shrugging off his clothes in favor of climbing into the shower and letting the hot spray of water wash over his body. 

It felt good to bathe. Bruce found himself taking his time in the shower, letting the water relax him. The shower was longer than necessary, but Bruce was greedy to let the water run over him, calm him down, clean him. Bruce generally didn’t like being dirty or sweaty. This shower felt like the best he had ever had. 

When he was finally finished, Bruce turned off the water, climbed out, and grabbed a towel. He dried himself off slowly, not exactly looking forward to seeing the man outside again. Jeremiah had said something about pajamas, but Bruce didn’t want to go outside to get them, nor did he want anything the man offered him. What if he just stayed in here? Kept himself locked in? What could Jeremiah do? Use the skeleton key, perhaps?

“Bruce? Are you finished?” Jeremiah asked through the door, knocking politely. “I have your clothes here. Come on out when you’re finished.” 

Sighing, Bruce braced himself for a fight or another argument. He had decided in the shower that he was not going to let Jeremiah treat him this way. Bruce Wayne was not a child! He refused to be treated like one! Especially by Jeremiah Valeska!

He opened the door only after securely wrapping the towel around his waist. Outside, Jeremiah was waiting by Bruce’s bed. The sheets were undone neatly and lying at the foot of the bed was a pair of pajamas that Bruce recognized, strangely enough. They were a pair of blue and white striped pajamas: A pair Bruce had had when he was younger, before he outgrew them. Bruce stared at the pajamas wide eyed. 

“They’re made to fit,” Jeremiah reassured, “I had them made for you. Go on, get dressed.” His voice was encouraging and oddly gentle, and Bruce resented that. 

“Jeremiah, I’m not twelve,” Bruce argued, looking at the man with exasperation and anger, “And I’m not going to let you treat me like I am!” 

The villain’s eyebrow quirked dramatically. Since when did Jeremiah paint his eyebrows, anyway? “Really? Because with that tone of voice, I could swear you sound very childish, Bruce. Go put the pajamas on. It’s getting late. It’s time for bed for you.” 

Bruce felt his face heat up with anger and embarrassment. His fists curled up once more. He narrowed his eyes at Jeremiah. “I’m not going to bed, I’m not putting those on, and I am not listening to you,” the young man hissed. “I’m going back downstairs to get Alfred and he and I are leaving. I’m going to find someone who will help me get supplies back to Gotham. And after that, I’m going to tell them exactly where you are so they’ll come and arrest you!” 

That earned a laugh from Jeremiah. The villain giggled in a maniacal sort of manner, narrowed his eyes playfully, and folded his arms with that large grin plastered over his face. “Will you now? In that towel? I’d like to see that,” he teased. “Bruce, I know this is a lot to take in, and I really do want to be patient with you. However, I can only take so much before I have to do something about that attitude of yours. You don’t want that, do you? You don’t want to go to bed feeling sore, do you?” The pout Jeremiah gave Bruce was infuriating, and Bruce snarled at him in reply. “I’d hate to have to put you over my knee tonight, Bruce. You’re just getting settled in. Now, put your pajamas on now.” 

The threat only served to make Bruce angrier. It had become Bruce’s final breaking point, and with an indignant little grunt, Bruce folded his arms over his chest and said in a firm, annoyed voice, “No.” 

The exasperation was written clearly over Jeremiah’s face. Those inhuman eyes rolled and then lifted towards the ceiling, as if searching for guidance. Bruce saw his dark lips murmur something under his breath. Taking a deep breath, Jeremiah suddenly reached out and took Bruce by the arm. “Right. Come here, then.” 

Giving Bruce a rough little tug, Jeremiah pulled the boy over to the bed with him. Bruce stumbled after him wide eyed and shocked. That shock only grew in strength when Jeremiah reached out and unceremoniously yanked off the towel. Bruce yelped, grabbing at it. “Give it back!” 

“You aren’t going to need it,” Jeremiah responded airily as he gave a swift tug that sent the boy lying over his thighs. Bruce’s arms flew behind him to grab at Jeremiah’s wrists, but one hand skillfully held Bruce’s arms down while Jeremiah trapped Bruce’s legs between his own. Bruce froze, suddenly shivering from the exposure. “We’ll keep this short and sweet since it’s your first night, hmm?” 

Jeremiah gave Bruce’s bottom a sharp slap on one cheek. The boy jolted and gave a small yelp from surprise. It took two more before Bruce’s shock wore off and he began to struggle and curse at Jeremiah once more. “Jeremiah, let me up! This is ridiculous! Let go of me!” All the while, Jeremiah was holding Bruce securely. He had easily picked up a one-two rhythm on Bruce’s backside, which was quickly turning from white to pink. 

“Bruce, I know this is all very new and confusing for you,” Jeremiah stated, never once letting up on Bruce’s squirming behind. “You’re likely very angry and scared right now, and that’s completely normal. It’s okay to feel this way. This is going to take some very serious adjusting on both of us, and I’m happy to put forth that effort.” Bruce was still cursing, giving small grunts now and then and sinking his teeth down on his lower lip to silence any more embarrassing sounds. “I need you to put forth that same effort, Bruce,” Jeremiah went on, giving a few sharp smacks to Bruce’s left thigh and then the right. 

“Jeremiah! Damn it, Jeremiah, let go of me! Let go!” Bruce huffed and gave a few kicks, but was unable to do much with his legs held down by Jeremiah’s. He was trapped, and Bruce hated feeling trapped. Jeremiah didn’t seem eager to slow down, either, and the sharp sting was beginning to turn into a burn. 

“I suspect you and I will be repeating this process soon,” Jeremiah said, giving a soft sigh as Bruce writhed beneath him, “which, in truth, I won’t mind at all. You, on the other hand,” Jeremiah paused to let out a chuckle and smacked Bruce hard. It caused another quiet yelp to spring from the boy’s lips. “Well, I imagine you aren’t going to be very fond of this at all.” 

Bruce was beginning to trade his cursing and spitting for small whines of pain. He wanted up. It hurt, and he wanted up. When Jeremiah saw that Bruce’s struggling had become nothing more than involuntary wiggling, he let up on the smacks and settled for softer swats against a bright red ass. “Are we ready for bed now, Bruce?” Jeremiah asked, voice sweet. When he got no answer, he gave Bruce a sharper smack that caused a small whimper to break loose from Bruce’s pursed lips. “Well?” 

“Yes,” Bruce choked out, tears shining in his eyes but unfallen. He was grateful, at least, for that small spare of dignity. 

Chuckling, Jeremiah released his grip on Bruce’s wrists and helped the teen to stand. Bruce’s face, much like his rear, had turned a shade of red. Jeremiah smiled at him encouragingly. “There, that’s better. Go on, put your pajamas on now, Bruce. It’s much too past your bedtime.” 

Bruce moved on wobbly legs to the folded pajamas waiting for him. He dressed slowly, eyes cast downward. The fabric brushed over his reddened skin and Bruce winced with pain. If Jeremiah saw, he gave no comment. 

Once Bruce had dressed himself in the soft pajamas, Jeremiah held out a hand and placed it on Bruce’s shoulder. He led Bruce back into the bed where Bruce curled up on his side. Jeremiah pulled the blankets over his lithe form and tucked them around him. “There. Sleep well, Bruce. We’ll go over things a bit more clearly tomorrow.” 

Standing up straight, Jeremiah made his way to the door. He paused once he got there. “I better not catch you out of bed, either, Bruce. I’d hate for a repeat so soon.” He flicked off the light and left the room with a chuckle.


	3. Here Are The Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah goes over some of the rules and terms that Bruce will have to face. Bruce tries to dissuade Jeremiah from the entire thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's left likes and comments on the past two chapters. Your comments are especially appreciated, as they help me figure out where I want to go with this story. I'd love if you guys could give me feedback and ideas about the story? As always, I'm open to all ideas! Here's the newest chapter: sorry for the delay!

Bruce found that once Jeremiah had left the room, he was far too awake to sleep. He laid there, curled up on his side, staring at the wall with a small frown plastered across his face. Jeremiah was right; Even some time after alone, he was still sore. Jeremiah’s hand had left a low burn on his skin that only served to further agitate the young man. He had never felt so humiliated in his life! Bruce hated being belittled. 

Groaning, Bruce kicked the sheets off himself and sat up in the bed. He grimaced at the change of pressure and then peered around the dark room. Bruce stood up and made his way over to the tall windows. From his bedroom, he could see the Wayne Manor garden, which was currently dead with the weather. Bruce stared down the ledge through the glass and wondered if he could climb his way down safely. His hands reached out, giving the windows a tug, but he found them to be locked with no way of unlocking them from the inside. Weird. 

Bruce gave a few more tugs for good measure, and finally slammed his fist into the window with a frustrated growl. Pulling away, he turned his attention to the door. Walking across the floor, he reached out for the doorknob but froze at the memory of Jeremiah’s voice, calm and steady as ever, saying, “I better not catch you out of bed, either, Bruce. I’d hate for a repeat so soon.” Bruce felt his face grow red with anger and embarrassment. 

He jerked away from the door with a growl. What was he going to do, anyway? Bruce would never leave without Alfred, and Alfred was hypnotized into doing whatever Jeremiah wanted. Bruce had little doubt that Alfred would go wake Jeremiah the minute Bruce tried to leave, and then what? 

A repeat? 

Bruce scowled as he walked back over to the bed, throwing himself down onto it face first. There was no way he was going to let Jeremiah treat him like a kid! Bruce would have to talk about this to him tomorrow. He would try to reason with him. Reason with the madman? Wonderful. Still, Bruce had to try. He wouldn’t let Jeremiah treat him like this. Bruce was an adult! 

He rolled onto his back with a deep sigh. He had too much to think about to sleep properly. He had to decide what he was going to say to Jeremiah tomorrow. The villain had said that he would talk about things in detail tomorrow, so Bruce needed to be ready. He wouldn’t let Jeremiah do this. He wouldn’t let Jeremiah treat him like a child. He wouldn’t let him “take care” of him. He sure as hell wouldn’t let him spank him again. 

Somewhere along the way, Bruce dozed off with the final thoughts that Jeremiah would not lay a hand on him again. With this in mind, Bruce finally fell asleep, face pressed against the pillow. 

\- - - 

When Bruce woke, it was because Alfred was moving about the room in a way Bruce had become accustomed to: that of stamping around to ensure Bruce was very much awake. “Good morning, young Master Bruce,” the butler chirped, pushing back the curtains fully to allow light in on the room. Bruce squinted, momentarily confused before he began to remember the night before. “Rise and shine, son. You have a busy day.” 

“Alfred? What’s going on? Is Jeremiah still here?” 

The questions came out groggy and slurred. Bruce rubbed his eyes and sat up in the bed. Staring at the amused butler, he frowned. Alfred was searching through his drawers, evidently searching for an outfit for Bruce to wear. “Well, I’d certainly think so, wouldn’t you?” Alfred replied, chuckling as he went to the closet. “Come on, up now. Master Jeremiah has requested you eat breakfast with him in the study. Hop to it.” 

Bruce’s fingers clenched in the blankets. “Master Jeremiah?” he repeated through gritted teeth, but Alfred didn’t seem to be especially concerned. He was laying out a light blue button up and a pair of khaki colored pants. Bruce narrowed his eyes and climbed out of the bed, dashing to the butler. “Alfred! Jeremiah has you brainwashed. He’s dangerous. We need to leave now.” His hand grasped at Alfred’s shirt, but the butler pulled back with a curious expression. “Alfred!” Bruce made to grab at him again. 

“Having trouble getting ready, Bruce?” The calm voice at the door nearly made Bruce jump out of his skin. He spun around to stare at Jeremiah wide eyed. The green-haired male was standing in the doorway, arms folded, body leaned into the doorframe and eyes gleaming with mischief. “Alfred, that’s quite enough. Bruce will see to making his own bed and getting dressed. Please, go take care of the rest of the house.” 

“Of course, sir.” Shooting the two a quick, docile smile, Alfred strode from the room professionally. Bruce watched in dismay. 

“You had to know that wasn’t going to work,” Jeremiah commented, sounding more amused than anything. 

Bruce growled at him. “There’s a phrase or word for the hypnotism, I just have to find out what it is,” he snapped. He expected anger, but all he got was that soft little chuckle and a shake of Jeremiah’s head. 

“All right, Bruce. Get dressed, make up your bed, and meet me in the study. Alfred told you that’s where we’re having breakfast, didn’t he?” 

“I’m not hungry,” the teen muttered, scowling back at Jeremiah, who only seemed to grow more delighted by the second. 

“Ten minutes. I expect you to be there. Chop, chop!” 

With that, the villain spun on his heel and left the room. Bruce waited until he heard the footsteps fade down the hall before he kicked the bed in fury. His fists tightened and he resisted the urge to hit something. Glancing at the clothes, Bruce huffed and turned towards the bathroom. He went looking for his clothes from last night, but found them missing from the pile he had left them in on the floor. Alfred must have taken them. 

Sighing, Bruce returned to the bedroom and gave the outfit a once over before silently changing into it. He took a quick look at the bed in thought. If he made it up, that was one more point towards Jeremiah and one less for him. A memory of last night flashed through his head, and Bruce contemplated whether he should risk it happening again. Finally, he decided it would not, because he was not going to let it. With that in mind, Bruce straightened his shirt and left the room in a mess. 

Just as promised, Jeremiah was sitting in the study on one of the couches facing the coffee table. On the table, there was an array of pastries. Jeremiah had a mug full of what Bruce presumed to be coffee. There was orange juice on the opposite side. Jeremiah’s eyes lifted when he heard Bruce at the door and he offered him a smile. “Good morning, Bruce. Did you sleep well?” 

Bruce stared at the smiling man and wondered how he should begin. How should he answer? Should he answer at all, or get right to it? He had decided that going about this with his temper wasn’t going to help at all; It would only make Jeremiah angry and more prone to acting as he had the night before. Bruce didn’t want that. As a result, he decided he would need to be calm during this. He had to talk to Jeremiah as adults, not enemies. It was the only way to get him to see that what he was doing was ludicrous! 

“I slept fine,” he said finally, voice quiet. He stood there a moment longer, watching Jeremiah with some discomfort when the man lifted his hand and beckoned him over. 

“Come on, then. Breakfast is ready. We have some things to discuss, I believe.” He looked at Bruce knowingly and the teen gave a nod before bracing himself and taking confident strides over to the couch. Sitting down, Bruce looked across the table at Jeremiah and found the man still smiling at him. Those painted eyebrows raised. “I suspect you have more questions after last night?” 

More questions? Something like that. Bruce pursed his lips. “I want to talk about it,” he admitted thoughtfully, and Jeremiah’s smile became an encouraging one. 

“Good. We have a lot to discuss. Would you like to begin, or shall I?” 

Bruce made no immediate response, and so Jeremiah sat up straighter and took one a relaxed face. “I told you last night that for now until I believe you’re ready to be treated like an adult, I will be acting as your guardian role. That still stands clear, I presume?” 

“It does,” Bruce answered, deciding to allow Jeremiah to finish before he interjected. Be an adult. 

“Good. So, from now on, I will be acting as the head of the household. You may have noticed your change in title for Alfred?” Bruce had. Alfred had begun answering him as “young master” again, as he had while Bruce was small, before Thomas and Martha died. He nodded. “Alfred’s hypnotism is a firm one. I wouldn’t try breaking it again. In fact, I’d advise you not to meddle in that affair ever again, Bruce. It’ll only get you in trouble.” And another punishment, Bruce thought, but didn’t say. And yet, as if reading Bruce’s mind, the villain chuckled. “And where there’s trouble, there are consequences.” Bruce gritted his teeth. “Do you have any questions so far?” 

“Not exactly,” Bruce said, taking a deep breath. Time to work. “Jeremiah, I understand that you only want to help me mature, but I’m not a child. I’m nineteen years old, I’ve run a company since I was twelve! Granted, I’ve had help along the way, but that was sufficient help to allow me to shape myself into who I am now. I don’t need to be ‘raised’ again. Whatever my childhood might have been, it can’t just be redone.” 

Jeremiah listened, without interruption, and Bruce felt thankful for that. He was nervous about this whole ordeal. The green-haired man took a sip from his coffee – black, two sugars, if Bruce remembered correctly – and then looked at him with what Bruce thought must have been his patient look. “I’m not trying to redo your childhood, Bruce,” he answered. “No. I know nothing can be undone and redone. What I am saying is that you never quite grew up at all. No, you were merely a child who had to put on grownup clothes, Bruce. That’s still what you are now. A child expected to take on an adult job. It’s what Alfred’s expected of you; what Jim’s expected of you. Even myself, I’m afraid. I’m ready to rectify that, though, Bruce.” 

Bruce’s heart sank a little. Still, he couldn’t give up. Jeremiah had to be made to see reason! “But I am an adult. I did grow up. You pretending I’m a kid doesn’t change that!” His voice raised just a little, much to his dismay, and Bruce watched Jeremiah’s eyebrow quirk upward. 

“Watch your tone,” he warned, though his voice as calm as ever and there was no immediate threat to be seen. “I understand that this change will be very difficult for you. I want to help you with this change, Bruce. I told you: I just want to be connected with you. This is the perfect way to do so. Now, if we’re finished with this part of the discussion-”

“I’m not done!” Bruce hissed. “You’re not even much older than I am, Jeremiah. You don’t get to take me away and belittle me because you’re obsessive.” The words come harshly, and Bruce can’t help but think that he’s thrown civility to the wind. 

Jeremiah’s face grew a tad darker, and Bruce resisted the urge to recoil. “Bruce,” he said, voice getting lower. Bruce’s lips pursed. “You’re agitated, I know. But you’re getting riled up again, and you’re getting close to saying some things you will quickly regret. Calm down.” 

Bruce felt his lip quiver with frustration. He looked down irritably. Jeremiah was right, though. He wasn’t going to get anywhere if he let his temper flare back up. “That moves us on to some of my rules, though.” Jeremiah took another drink of coffee, set the cup down, and straightened his sleeves. “I suspect you want an explanation about last night?” 

“I’d like to know what that was about, yes,” Bruce growled. 

Jeremiah gave him another warning look and then said, “You were in the middle of a mild tantrum. I warned you multiple times, Bruce, and you ignored me. I thought it best to reprimand you quickly to settle any further disputes. And, as it worked, I believe it’ll be a continued punishment for further disobeying.” He said it so casually that he might as well have told Bruce about the weather, or what he intended to do through the day. “There’ll be other possible options, of course. Depending on whatever it is you might’ve done. But the spanking did wonders for your attitude, I have to say.” 

“Jeremiah, you can’t be serious,” Bruce breathed. The look on his face must have been one of horror. Jeremiah chuckled softly. 

“Completely,” he answered, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure we’ll find other methods as well. However, with how well you responded yesterday, I can’t help but think it to be the preferred method. You settled right down after that.” Jeremiah looked at Bruce thoughtfully. “Aside from that, I think we’ll settle for time outs when I think it necessary.” Bruce’s face was burning with anger and embarrassment. “And, Bruce, this goes without saying, but if you curse at me like you did last night, I may have to wash your mouth out.” 

“This is ridiculous, Jeremiah. You – You can’t!” Bruce was grasping at straws now. Why couldn’t Jeremiah see that what he was doing was wrong? Why couldn’t he see that Bruce was an adult! He deserved to be treated like one! “You can’t.” 

“I most certainly can. And will. Bruce, keep in mind that all of this depends on your behavior. Now, I know you can’t be expected to be the perfect child. You’ll make mistakes. We both will. But you-”

“No, Jeremiah! This isn’t fair; I’m not a little kid! And even if I was, you don’t have any rights over me. Alfred was my legal guardian before I turned eighteen. I don’t want to play this game with you! I just want to go back to the Green Zone.” Jim was there, trying desperately to hold onto what little solid ground was left. Bruce needed to be there with him. Bruce needed to get Alfred out of this madhouse. 

Jeremiah sighed, and for a moment, Bruce was afraid that he intended to hit him again. However, the villain seemed to hold onto his calmness and looked at Bruce with his strange eyes. “You understand by saying that you sound exactly like a child not getting his way?” he asked, and Bruce’s face turned crimson. “You keep referring to this as a game. It isn’t a game, Bruce. You’re here now. This isn’t a brief period that you have to go through. It isn’t a stage or a level to pass. This is currently your life. This will be the lifestyle you’ll have to adapt to. Until I see you’re prepared to face something different, this is how things will be. Punishments for ill behavior. A stable routine. Something to ground you.” He looked at Bruce, and when Bruce didn’t give any word on it, Jeremiah went on.

“Now, as for your routine: Bruce, I understand that after your parents died, you didn’t want to return to school and settled for homeschooling. That’s not unreasonable. However, it is unreasonable for a twelve-year-old to design his own curriculum to, how did you say it to Alfred? Focus on the subjects that interest you the most?” Jeremiah’s eyebrows furrowed. “Alfred says you went through random stages of attending school only to quit once again. You don’t have any traditional education after your parents died, have you?” 

“I learned just fine,” Bruce muttered. “I learned the same things that my classmates learned, just at different rates, in different methods.” 

“For now on, you and I will have daily sessions right here so that we can test your skills and make sure you’re up to speed, and to catch you up to speed if you’re not,” Jeremiah went on, as if Bruce had never spoken, and Bruce glared at him for it. 

“I just told you, I’m not behind! I learned everything my classmates learned.”

“And I believe you,” Jeremiah said, but Bruce was sure that he didn’t. “But we’re going to start daily lessons just to make sure.” 

Everything was happening too quickly. It was as though Jeremiah had just set everything in stone and Bruce had no say in what happened at all. He hated it. Fists balled up and Bruce stood abruptly. Jeremiah watched him, eyebrows lifting. Bruce stormed for the door, having heard enough. He half expected Jeremiah to come after him, but all he heard was, “Your lesson will be at one o’clock, Bruce. I expect you to be here. And Bruce?” The teen paused at the door. “Go and make your bed up. I know you haven’t done so yet, and I specifically told you to.” 

The teen stormed out in a fury.


	4. Shaky Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce skips out on Jeremiah's lesson and faces the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Thanks for everyone who's left comments and taken the time to read this far! Here is the next chapter. Warning: spanking in the chapter. Some hurt and comfort towards the end. I'd love if you guys would leave suggestions, comments, requests, or even recommendations for other similar stories! Hope you enjoy!

Bruce found himself storming down the never-ending halls of Wayne Manor in a rage shortly after his conversation with Jeremiah. That had not going the way he had wanted to at all! In fact, it had gone the exact opposite. Jeremiah intended to continue to treat him as he was now, and worse! It was infuriating, and Bruce could only see shades of crimson as he practically stomped through the manor in anger. 

He did not go back to make up the bed. Certainly, Bruce passed up the room. He glanced inside and saw the untidy sheets. For a moment, the neatness that Alfred had instilled in him as a child began to leap out, and he started for the door. However, sheer spite stopped him from going in and fixing the room. Instead, he slammed the door shut and kept going. 

How dare Jeremiah do this to him? As if everything else wasn’t bad enough, he had to add insult to injury. Not only had Jeremiah nearly taken Alfred, Selina, and Jim from him, not only had he thrown Gotham into madness and nearly destroyed it completely, but now he was taking the very pride that Bruce clung on to. It was sickening to think about. 

How had Jeremiah gotten to the mainland to begin with? How had Jeremiah gotten Alfred and himself to the mainland, at that? Surely, there was no boat that Jeremiah had crafted? There were explosives in the river, from what Bruce had heard. No one was permitted in or out of Gotham. How had Jeremiah managed it? It was another question Bruce had forgotten to ask while he was fueled with anger. 

If Jeremiah thought that Bruce was going to allow him to treat him this way, he was wrong. Bruce refused to play a part of it. He refused to go to Jeremiah’s lessons. He refused to be talked down to. He sure as hell refused to be put back over his knee. This was the end of treating Bruce Wayne like a child. If Jeremiah tried, Bruce would shut him down. He would fight. He would do something. 

He had to do something. 

He could escape, Bruce decided. This was the mainland, after all. Bruce could go get help. He could find someone on the outside. Police would come arrest Jeremiah. Doctors could help break Alfred out of the spell. And then, with Jeremiah out of the way, Bruce would be able to help on Gotham on the outside. He could get back to Gotham, back to Selina, back to Jim and Lucius. He could get back to all his loved ones and all his work. Everything could go back to normal again.

Before Bruce knew it, he was standing in his own gymnasium. Surprisingly, this room was just as clean as the others. Bruce had half-expected it to be left to rot. His punching bag was still in place, wire still hung from one end of the room to the other to practice balance. Everything was where he had left it, exactly as he had left it, and spotless. 

Bruce ran his hand over some of the equipment. Hours spent training in here. Boxing, trying out new techniques, honing skillsets. Bruce had worked hard in this room. He had studied more fighting types than could be counted on both hands. In a way, Bruce had grown up in this room, spending more time in here than he would have liked to admit. 

Sighing, Bruce gave the punching bag a nudge with his hand. He watched as it fell back and then bounced back up into position, swinging back and forth in a slow, lazy fashion. He pushed again, watched it sway, and then suddenly swung at it. The pressured feeling on his knuckles was familiar and pleasant. It made him swing again, and then again, and before Bruce knew it, he was attacking the punching back in a flurry of punches and kicks. He was happy to find he wasn’t a bit out of practice. 

Bruce pounded his fists against the punching bag. He swung and kicked as though the punching bag had personally done him wrong. After some time, Bruce realized that he was imagining the bag was Jeremiah. This only strengthened his attacks, and Bruce smirked as he gave a ferocious kick. Imagining Jeremiah writhing under him in pain was a little too satisfying. Bruce wanted to hear him cry out in pain. Thinking to last night, Bruce only got angrier and fought harder. 

A quick glance at the clock reminded Bruce that Jeremiah expected him at one o’clock. 

No, Bruce thought, he wouldn’t go! Jeremiah was not going to put him into some school setting to make himself feel bigger. Bruce was going to stay right here as long as he pleased. That was all there was to it. 

_____

A nice, long workout had done Bruce well, he decided. When the clock eventually struck one, Bruce had smirked and moved on to another piece of equipment. He had happily worked all throughout the hour, and then half an hour into two before Alfred walked into the room with an exasperated expression. 

“Just what are you doing, young man?” the butler asked, and Bruce recognized his chiding voice. Bruce pursed his lips in agitation and glanced at Alfred. “Master Jeremiah has been waiting for you for over an hour! And you’ve been down here playing?” 

“I wasn’t playing. I was exercising,” Bruce retorted, allowing himself to hang a moment before performing another pull-up. “Did he send you down here?” 

“He asked me to come get you, yes,” Alfred answered, huffing at the teen. “Come down from here, now, sir. He’s waiting for you upstairs in the study. Go see to it.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed furiously. “No,” he answered, pulling up once more. “I’m not going back up there for him to scold me like he has a right to.” He looked down at Alfred and saw the frustration written all over his guardian’s face. It was somewhat sad to see, and Bruce felt ashamed for disappointing Alfred. He had to remind himself that it was only because Tetch’s hypnotism that made him this way. If it weren’t for that, Alfred would be proud of him!

“If you don’t go face him, I imagine there’ll be more than a bit of scolding, sir,” Alfred commented. 

Bruce saw red with rage. He dropped down from the bar and glared at Alfred. “I’m not letting him spank me again, Alfred,” he hissed. It surprised the butler evidently, because Alfred’s eyebrows shot up and he stared in shock. The butler folded his arms over his chest. 

“I’m not sure that’s your choice in the matter, sir,” he answered, sounding stern now, and Bruce despised it. He wanted to scream for it. “Shall I tell him you aren’t coming?” 

“Tell him I said he and his ‘lessons’ can go to hell,” Bruce snapped. He could see anger cross Alfred’s face, and for a moment he worried that the man might hit him, but Alfred merely muttered a ‘very well’ and strode out of the room. Bruce watched him go. Sighing, he walked to the cupboard that they left towels in and grabbed one, pressing his face against it and wiping sweat from his forehead. “Sorry, Alfred,” he whispered, once the man was gone. 

Bruce set the towel down and went back to work. He was able to get an entire five minutes done before the door opened again. Bruce didn’t need to look over to know that it was Jeremiah who had come in. He knew Alfred’s footsteps and those weren’t him. “Bruce,” the cool voice said, and Bruce felt his arms wobble a little at the sound. Jeremiah did not sound happy at all. 

“Mm?” Bruce didn’t look at Jeremiah. He knew the man was angry, and as much as Bruce actually wanted to look over and survey the man’s rage with bitter pleasure, he wasn’t willing to give Jeremiah the time of day. 

The words that came next were short and clipped, “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” 

The words were ignored expertly. Bruce didn’t look at Jeremiah. He didn’t even look in his general direction. Bruce felt as though he could sense the shift in the air. He knew Jeremiah was getting angrier by the second and part of him loved that. He liked that he was agitating the man. If Bruce was going to be angry, he wanted Jeremiah to be equally as angry! He refused to give Jeremiah the pleasure of getting his way. 

Another moment of silence passed between them before Jeremiah spoke again. “Bruce, you didn’t come to your lesson today. Did you forget what time it was?” 

“Nope,” Bruce answered, grunting as he stretched his arms up high. 

That earned a small hum. “Did you lose track of time down here?” Jeremiah asked. 

Bruce knew the man was searching for a reason, and Bruce couldn’t help but find it amusing. “No,” he answered again, and then finally looked over his shoulder at Jeremiah. 

There he stood, looking highly displeased and frowning at Bruce in such a way that it filled Bruce with dread and a strange excitement. The villain had his arms folded over his chest and his eyes were gleaming with that authoritative expression that agitated Bruce. He hated that look on Jeremiah’s face just like he hated the way Jeremiah thought he could baby him to make them “closer”. Jeremiah took a deep breath. “So, you didn’t lose track of time and you didn’t forget. You purposely skipped out on your lesson, just like you purposely ignored me twice today when I told you to make up your bed? Is that all?” 

Bruce didn’t answer now. He glared back at Jeremiah in what he hoped must have seemed like a ‘check-mate’ sort of way. There was an irritated look that crossed Jeremiah’s face, and then it became eerily calm as Jeremiah started making his way over to Bruce. “That’s all I needed to know.” 

Glowering at Jeremiah, Bruce lifted his fists at him in warning. “I kicked your brother’s ass and I’ll do the same to you. Don’t touch me!” The green-haired man paused in shock. After the shock wore off, anger replaced it. He began to walk forward slowly. “I swear it, Jeremiah!” 

“Keep in mind that if you throw the first punch at me, I can have this building set ablaze in seconds,” Jeremiah hissed, and the sound was so cruel and frightening that Bruce lowered his fists a moment. That moment was all Jeremiah needed. 

His hand shot out and grabbed Bruce by the wrist. Yanking him close, Jeremiah twisted his arm behind his back. Bruce yelped. “Let go of me,” Bruce growled, attempting to kick his leg back at Jeremiah. The villain began to drag him, and Bruce fought the entire way. “I mean it, Jeremiah, let go!” 

Bruce lifted his head to see where Jeremiah was taking him to. Eyebrows furrowed curiously as Jeremiah pulled him onward. Jeremiah stopped them at one of the workout benches. His grip tightened on Bruce as he sat down. The teen’s eyes widened. “Hey, wait – Ah!” 

One quick yank sent Bruce sprawling out over Jeremiah’s lap. Immediately, Bruce began to thrash and kick. Jeremiah first secured Bruce’s wrists behind his back. “Let me up,” Bruce barked, kicking his legs as Jeremiah worked on settling him in. He felt the man’s fingers hook into the back of his pants and began to buck wildly. “Stop that!” 

“Now, Bruce, you had to know this would be coming if you disobeyed me,” Jeremiah said, swiftly tugging the pair of pants down to Bruce’s knees. His boxers quickly followed, and Bruce writhed while shouting complaints and demands for them to be pulled up again. “In fact, we just talked about this this morning, didn’t we?” He pulled Bruce in a little tighter to stop some of the wiggling. “Didn’t we?” 

“Jeremiah, I’m not a little kid and you’re not my guardian! You can’t just appoint yourself to act like my authority figure because you want to!” Bruce kicked his legs, but it did little and in fact only caused his pants to slide further down his legs. He whined. “Let me up!”

The demand was met with a quick smack to the rear. Bruce jumped at the sudden sting and cursed. “That’s another thing, Bruce,” Jeremiah said, swatting his ass again in the same manner, “I don’t like that vocabulary one bit. Alfred told me what you said. Should I be washing your mouth with soap after this?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bruce snapped, and then yelped, because Jeremiah took it upon himself to smack Bruce harshly for the words. He squirmed. “Quit it!” 

“Oh, I think not,” Jeremiah chimed, sounding eerily calm once more. “No, Bruce, I believe we’re going to stay here until I think you’ve had quite enough. Until I think you’re properly sorry and ready to discuss our new arrangement once more. So, sit tight, don’t kick too much, and think very hard about how you want this next few minutes to go before you speak again.” Saying so, he began to pepper Bruce’s behind with unyielding slaps. 

Bruce hissed and cursed in spite of Jeremiah’s warning. He couldn’t help himself. It hurt! It hurt far worse than last night, in fact, which led Bruce to believe that Jeremiah really had been going easy on him due to it being his ‘first night’. Bucking his hips, Bruce clenched his jaw to quiet any yelping or whimpering. 

“Now, Bruce,” Jeremiah said, after a few minutes of silently spanking him and Bruce growling and kicking at him, “Do we know why we’re getting a spanking?” 

The words infuriated Bruce. He responded with a quick jerk upward, as if trying to evade Jeremiah’s tireless hand. The villain hummed, pushed Bruce further down with his hand on Bruce’s wrists, and began to smack a particular spot over and over, not once letting up. After the fifth smack in the same spot, Bruce began to jump and groan. “I asked a question, Bruce. I want an answer. Quick now.” 

The airy tone only served to make Bruce angrier, but Jeremiah didn’t seem to care. He finally let up on one spot just to continue at another. Bruce could feel first a handprint forming, following by a spreading shock of heat. He shuffled his legs, flailed, and found his pants falling all the way to his ankles in his fight. “Bruce!” Jeremiah swatted him sharper than before and the teen yelped. 

“For not coming to your lesson,” Bruce growled out, making smaller sounds of complaint as Jeremiah kept the pace up without pause. He slapped Bruce’s thigh until it became unbearable and then moved to the next spot. Bruce could feel tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes. 

“And?” Jeremiah’s voice was short and direct. There was no playfulness in his voice. Instead, Jeremiah carried the voice of a disciplinarian. Bruce hated it. 

“For not making up my bed,” Bruce said, gasping as Jeremiah started in a particularly tender spot. He gave a sharp cry and began to writhe. “Stop it! Stop it!” 

“Not yet,” Jeremiah answered, almost off-handedly, as if brushing aside a child’s command. He continued on the same path, spanking in one spot until Bruce thought he was going to scream and then moving on to the next. Bruce knew the kicking was doing him no good, but now it had become a natural reaction. He couldn’t stop. 

Bruce was becoming desperate. Everything hurt and he could feel himself giving in now. The tears were beginning to slide down his cheeks in spite of himself. It hurt! It hurt! “Jeremiah, please! Let me up! I want up!” 

The plea tasted bitter on his lips. Jeremiah merely clicked his tongue and shook his head. The onslaught suddenly paused and Bruce felt Jeremiah’s hand rest on his bottom. He jumped, whined at the sting, and fidgeted. Jeremiah rubbed the spot. “I know you do,” Jeremiah said, sounding as if he pitied Bruce. Bruce despised that, too. “You must be getting awfully sore now, aren’t you? Dinner will be terribly uncomfortable for you. Unfortunately, Bruce, I’m not sure you’re ready to get up yet. No, I think you need a little more time.” Jeremiah swatted Bruce on the ass once more, but this time it was with less force. Bruce still whined. “So, you’re going to stay right here.” 

The words made Bruce’s heart sink. No. No! Jeremiah couldn’t! And yet, he did; Jeremiah began smacking Bruce once more, and Bruce felt himself give in to soft cries. Those cries took on a near hysterical note at times, and Bruce choked on the wails with his sobs. Jeremiah kept going for a few more minutes before he paused again, this time letting his hand comb through Bruce’s hair. 

“Shh, hush. You’re all right,” he cooed, and Bruce answered with a choked cry. “I know, it hurts. You’re all right. Hush, Bruce, you’ll make yourself sick.” 

Jeremiah saying so only made Bruce want to cry harder. He hated that he was crying, but now that he had started, he couldn’t stop. It hurt. The sting had turned into a deep burn that just wouldn’t go away! Why wouldn’t it go away? Jeremiah’s hand continued to stroke Bruce’s hair, and the other freed Bruce’s hands in favor of rubbing his back. He continued to whisper soft words of encouragement. “It’s okay. We’re finished now, Bruce. You’re okay. That’s it. Breathe.” 

After Bruce’s sobbing had turned into quiet whimpers and cries, Jeremiah slid his hands beneath Bruce and helped him up. The teen wobbled, and Jeremiah put a hand on him to keep him steady while he surveyed Bruce’s ruddy face. “There we are. Much better. Ah, sweet boy, you’re fine. Stop that crying.” Jeremiah chuckled and reached up, swiping a few tears off Bruce’s face. Bruce calmed himself with some effort. Even when he had stopped crying, he couldn’t stop his bottom lip from quivering. 

“That was a bit rougher than last time, huh?” Jeremiah said, smoothing his hand over Bruce’s cheek. “Now, do you want to apologize, or do you want another go?” The villain’s eyebrows quirked seriously and his grip tightened just enough that Bruce couldn’t escape if the idea crossed his mind. “What will it be?” 

The billionaire stared, dumbstruck. Jeremiah wanted him to apologize? His mind spun with possibilities but was interrupted with Jeremiah’s voice coming to him in a warning tone, “Bruce? Do you need another trip across my knee now?” 

“N – No!” Bruce sputtered. His eyes widened a little bit in panic now. No! Don’t hit him again. No more! “I – I’m-”

“Go on, Bruce. You can say it.” Jeremiah dragged his fingers through Bruce’s hair again. The teen wouldn’t admit it, but it felt nice. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, feeling entirely too defeated for it. His eyes dropped to the floor, staring at his own bare legs in horror. 

“For?” 

Bruce grimaced. “Not making my bed or showing up to your lesson,” he murmured, and Jeremiah chuckled softly. 

“And?” 

Eyebrows furrowed, but Jeremiah gave Bruce a stern look and the boy hurried to answer. “And for cursing at you!” 

Jeremiah smiled. “Very good. See, Bruce? You’ll learn quickly.” He laughed quietly and stood, and Bruce watched wide eyed as the man stood over him. Jeremiah cupped his cheek with that same, gentle smile. “Now, get yourself redressed. Go upstairs and make up your bed. Then come into the study. You’re not getting out of that lesson, Bruce.” 

The villain pulled Bruce’s body in close for a moment, and Bruce’s eyebrows knitted together further as Jeremiah hugged his lithe form to him before giving him a quick kiss on the top of the head. “I’ll be waiting.” Jeremiah released Bruce and went straight to the door. Bruce watched him go before quickly bending and pulling his pants back up again. He released a shaky breath, wiped the remaining tear tracks from his face, and began the slow, agonizing walk upstairs.


End file.
